


liminal spaces

by cooperbettycooper



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: F/M, just little fics in interesting places, this isn't really anything specific I'm not sure how to tag it
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-08
Updated: 2017-10-08
Packaged: 2019-01-10 10:57:40
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 3,487
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12297795
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cooperbettycooper/pseuds/cooperbettycooper
Summary: liminal space is a concept in theology and psychology. it is the intermediate, in-between, transitional state where you cannot go back to where you were because a threshold has been crossed, and you have yet to arrive where you are going because it is not yet available to you.[a series of small, plotless bughead snippets set in liminal spaces to push me through my writer's block.]





	1. outside, right before a massive storm

**Author's Note:**

> a purposeless little collection of bughead in liminal spaces to push me through writer's block.

Jughead and Betty find themselves outside for no particular reason. They really have nothing to do, and for the life of them they aren’t even sure why they were out there. It’s almost dark but not quite, they can see the sidewalk in front of them but the Northside’s perfectly timed streetlights haven’t flicked on yet. The town is bathed in a momentary darkness.

Something about it feels off. There was nothing wrong, nothing at all, but something feels off. Almost a good off, if that makes any sense. They’re alone, walking down the street with no destination and nothing pressing for their attention. The sky is darkening little by little and they feel like they’re on a different plane of the universe. One where it is just them and them alone.

Betty feels Jughead’s grip on her hand tighten just a little as a woman they’ve never seen before turns the corner, walks right past them, and up to one of the identical houses lining the street. Like their little universe has been interrupted for just a second, and neither of them know how to feel about it.

They’ve never seen her before and that’s pretty unusual. This is Riverdale, with a grand population of about 300 people at most. Sure they don’t know each person personally, but they could at least recognize.

“Have you ever seen her before?” Jughead asks, almost nervously.  
“No,” Betty replies, unconsciously looking up.

Dark clouds are slowly rolling over the bright blue sky, tinging it with a strange feeling of melancholy. They both take a deep breath, almost in sync. The air is crisp and it hasn’t rained for a while.

A raindrop falls. Its sound makes a crushing impact, but its like music to them. That one drop is followed swiftly by many others and Jughead breaks into a smile. Betty gives him a questioning look.

“I love it when it rains,” he said simply.

Of course he does.

Betty smiles. She can imagine Jughead sitting outside in the rain, the way he always did when they were kids. She can see him, sitting on the steps of the Joneses trailer, waving hello to her as she rushes home hand in hand with Polly.

“Me too-ah!” Betty’s voice squeaks, about to recount the pleasantly distant memory, but his arms sling under her, lifting her off the ground before she can say anything. Her arms wrap around his neck, with her cheek to his chest. She can feel his heartbeat.

The rain is falling down in spades, and his precious beanie is going to be soaked through in minutes and her ponytail will be matted with curls if she doesn’t brush it out while it’s still wet.

“Lets get home,” she whispers, before pressing a feather light kiss to his jawline.  
He smiles at her.

“Okay. But I want to take the long way.”

And they do. Jughead carries her down two more streets than necessary, water droplets clinging hopelessly to his messy curls. Somewhere along the way, she pulls his beanie off his head and puts it on to keep it from getting too soaked.

There’s thunder clapping and momentary lightning breaking through the clouds. The thunder is booming, reminding them they need to get home soon or they’ll be soaked to their skin, but they don’t care. Instead, Jughead’s eyes practically light up with each burst of light and sound.

They absolutely adore this strange feeling. It feels like they’re the only people to walk down the identical streets, lined with cracks breaking their façade, and really take it in. Something about it feels beautiful.

It’s the perfect time and place to be alone together.


	2. a town at night, lit up only by street-lamps

The streetlights on the Northside of Riverdale are timed.

At 9:00 every night during the summer, and at 7:00 during daylight savings time, the Northside’s posts come alight with a small bulb, casting looming shadows of anyone who walks the streets after dark.

Betty always wonders why this is the one thing the town manages to maintain even when all other things fall apart. She wonders who’s in control of the lights sometimes, if they watch the clock for the second it’s time, and presses a button. The world could be going down in flames but she’s sure that at 9:00 swiftly, the town will light up in the most ominously beautiful way.  
She sits at her windowsill, legs hanging outside in the cold, the lattice Jughead uses to climb up when there’s no ladder just a foot below where her legs are swinging. An occasional sweep of wind blows her undone hair just a little, leaving her with an intimidating feeling. One gust too hard and she’ll fall.

She hears her phone ring with a text alert, the light of the screen illuminating her otherwise dark bedroom. The figures on her posters look like silhouettes. She replies to the text. It’s one from Jughead, asking how long until she’ll be there.

Soon, she replies.

With a deep breath, she swings one leg out and digs it into the laced framework. Then another, and her hands are helping her down until her feet, laced in worn Keds, touch the soft grass.

The streets are empty and lit up. Her shadow is cast until the end of the lawn. With one final look up to make sure her mother or sister hadn’t noticed her sudden absence, she begins walking down the street. A lone figure, with her hair glowing and pastel pink sweater making it’s way to the Southside.

On the Southside, the lights are patternless. 

Sometimes, they’ll turn on at 6. Other times, they just won’t turn on at all. Betty likes that. It feels like the days are less structured there.

Within minutes, she’s trekked through what Northsiders call the “worst part of the snake pit,” and arrives at the corner Jughead told her to meet him at, one block from the Whyte Wyrm and not far from the trailer park. The entrance to the dog park is within her view, but it’s empty. There’s a chainlink fence behind her. 

If it were anyone else, they’d be talking on the phone with a loved one to ease the anxiety, or maybe turning on their phone’s flashlight to see what’s in front of them.

But Betty isn't even afraid.

“Jughead?” She calls out, her voice quieter than she intended.

She feels two familiar arms caress her from behind, and she spins around instantly, throwing her arms around him.

“Hey!” She says gleefully, her hands on his chest to keep him from pressing his lips to hers before she gets a chance to speak.

“I missed you so much today Betty, you have no idea,” he says to her, successfully getting a smile out of her.

“I missed you too.”

With that, she closes the gap between their lips, and after a small stumble back, they’re right under one of the streetlights, with her back to the post. He's not much taller than she is, but his shadow towers over her.

“I love you, Betty.” He says quietly.

“I love you too.” She replies, his arms snaking around her hips and kissing her with all the fire in him.

The streetlight above them flickers on.


	3. a beach in winter

Riverdale has one small beach, technically not part of the town but a short drive away.

There’s a part of Sweetwater River that snakes off, forming a small lake lined with dirty sand. It’s not maintained by the town, but the citizens do a good enough job because it’s such a beloved place in the summertime.

From May to early September even, the sand is covered end to end with towels, the beach riddled with the scent of picnic baskets and salty water. There are children holding melting popsicles and teenagers running a bit too slowly as a friend behind attempts to take candid photos that aren’t so candid.

But it’s winter now, and Riverdale’s beloved beach is empty except for two curious souls.

“Jughead, get down from there!” Betty calls up with a laugh. Jughead’s climbed the ladder to the lifeguard’s viewing seat, which is oddly high up.

“No way! It’s amazing up here. Run down there!”

He’s got his camera slung around his neck, and Betty runs, her hair blowing behind her, and he snaps some beautiful pictures. It’s cold enough that her cheeks and the tip of her nose turn a delightful shade of red and the pictures capture that wonderfully.

“Okay, you got your pictures. Now get down.”

He rolls his eyes and climbs down from the seat, throwing his arms around her for warmth. It seems she radiates it.

“Let go of me!” She squeals, squirming out of his grasp like a child.  
“No way Betts, I’m cold.”

She breaks out of his arms, and unzips her ankle boots and rolls her jeans legs up. He gives her a look of complete confusion.

“You’re not about to do what I think you are, are you?”

“Come on Juggie, it can’t be that cold. I’m just gonna take a couple steps.” She laughs, before running into the shallow water.

She’d definitely misjudged the temperature. It’s too cold for her to even stay standing. She can’t feel the soles of her feet and falls over into the icy water with a shriek.

“Oh my god, Betty!” He says, grabbing her hand and pulling her up again, now shivering.

“How warm am I now?” She gives him a devilish grin before throwing her soaking cold arms around him.

He practically screams, a strange sound in the quiet beach. His voice echoes, bouncing over the cold water.

They’re silent for just a second, watching it echo into silence, until Betty speaks up again.

“Anyway, that wasn’t so bad! And you’re too scared to even get near the water!” She says matter-of-factly, acting tough even though she’s literally quivering from the cold water running down her back.

“No, it was bad. And I’m not going in there for the life of me. There’s a reason this weirdo stays cloaked in his layers, even though I look absolutely amazing without them.” He jokes.

“Shut up!” She says, frustrated but not quite. Instead, she feels her chest fill with a strange warm joy at his smile, warm enough to drown out the cold water drops on her skin.

They take more pictures, until their feet grow tired and their shoes filled with sand. That sand wears their feet practically raw as they walk back to the truck. Betty’s sneezing nonstop now, and Jughead snaps another picture of her. She giggles before telling him to put the damn camera away, followed by another sneeze.

With the civil war only growing more intense, they can’t be together much during the day, and if they are it usually isn’t in typical places. Hence the beach in winter. It seems like their relationship is defined in these small passing moments, of sand in their shoes and cold wind blowing his beanie off his head.


	4. the bottom of a swimming pool

Tonight was another party at Cheryl Blossom’s mansion, but there was something different about tonight. People didn’t linger around for hours until past midnight, smashing themselves a second time after reaching relative sobriety post-immediate party drinking.

People didn’t stick around, except for two of them. Cheryl has no idea they’re there, she’s having her neck ravished by some girl she stumbled upon during the length of her messy soirée.

Those two are Jughead and Betty, in the backyard pool, doing nothing.

The area around the pool is dirty with solo cups and spilled alcohol, a couple shirts and shoes left behind.

Betty is wearing a pink bikini. The part holding the cups together seems held with some sort of grommets and lacing, but the straps are thin and the fabric feels heavy. Jughead’s wearing just a pair of black swim trunks and his arm is thrown around her shoulder as they look up at the sky. It’s dotted with little sparkles.

Betty wonders if some god or higher power has thrown out extra stars for their viewing pleasure.

The whole place feels empty, the water tranquil. They’re both afraid to move, disrupt the peace in any way. She reaches up, pressing a small kiss to his cheek. 

They’re exhausted and unsure of how they really got to this party in the first place. Their clothes are in a rumpled pile, arms distance away. But Betty’s getting more and more curious, having stared into the water for the past 15 minutes. She’s got a strange urge to see what’s down there.

“Give me just a second,” she whispers. “I just want to look and come back up.”

He nods slowly, and moves his arm.

Betty takes a deep breath, and Jughead smiles at her curiosity over such a mundane thing like the bottom of a swimming pool. She sinks under the water, golden strands of hair floating around her, as she forcess her eyes open.

She notices two things.

One, she feels amazingly wondrously weightless under the water. She can’t hear a thing, and it feels like the pool has drowned her senses deliciously. It’s wonderful.

Second, just how much had Cheryl paid to have sparkles emblazoned to the bottom of the pool?

In all her soaking it in, she feels for just a brief second, like she’s in another world. Like she’s in the middle of a glitch in the system, just watching it happen. Not doing a thing.

Then her lungs start burning, and she forces herself up and inhales sweet sweet oxygen and her chest is heaving.

“What did you find down there, Nancy Drew?” He asks, and she smiles.

“That the Blossoms must have paid to have some sort of glitter finish put at the bottom of the pool.”

He lets out a wheezy laugh at this.

“Who bothers themselves to even do that?” 

She shrugs in reply.

“Let me see this for myself,” Jughead says, peeling himself away from the edge of the pool.

“It’s also really nice down there, for no reason.” He gives Betty a questioning look, but her eyes look so confident and assured.

As though they’re saying try it, you’ll understand.

So he does. With a deep breath, the two plunge themselves underwater, and peel their eyes open. Jughead understands.

It’s like the rest of the world doesn’t exist. It feels unreal. Like they’ve slipped into another alternate universe. The water sparkles and they can see each movement of it, feel it on their skin and in their bones. Betty looks to be in a trance, but his lungs are set on fire and the two have to go up to catch a breath.

“That was…” He starts, but cannot find words.

“Something, wasn’t it?”

He gulps. “Yeah.”

To Jughead, it was almost terrifying, but Betty looks so amazed. She finds comfort at the bottom of the swimming pool.

He’d hold his breath for as long as he’d have to just to her to have another minute in that place.


	5. a friend's living room when everyone is asleep

 

Betty has never trusted the Pembrooke.

In similar fashion to how she’s never really her own home’s façade, she doesn’t seem to trust Veronica’s small ritzy apartment. It feels like someone cut a small piece of New York out and stuck it into Hermione and Veronica’s suitcases for them to bring along and paste here.

It just doesn’t have the small town charm. Not that she’s ever cared for such pathetic nostalgic things, but still. It just doesn’t feel like Riverdale.

If not for Archie, Jughead, and Ronnie all sleeping, she would think she’s entered New York City herself. She’s never been, but she imagines this is a small slice of what it’s like.

Archie is a loud snorer. He shakes the walls, and Veronica is tucked under his arm, shifting every so often in her sleep. She’s wearing her pearls but her makeup is disheveled after a day’s wear, her hair no longer perfectly intact.

Then her eyes trail over to Jughead.

The fireplace is crackling viciously, and the light from the flames are dancing across his skin. He’s shed most of his layers, Serpent jacket and flannel slung over the armrest of the couch he’s sleeping on, and he’s got one sock off. He’s never looked quite so beautiful, quite so at peace.

Betty feels a shiver run down her spine. She can never really let herself relax when she’s here, because no matter what she does it feels like she’s being watched. There’s nothing in this room grounding her to the reality of Riverdale that she’s used to, except for Jughead.

She walks over to him slowly, stepping between crushed coke cans and candy bar wrappers, almost slipping on an empty bag that once housed marshmallows. She drops to her knees in front of him, and her hand traces the little moles smattering his cheeks. Her fingers trail over him like she’s playing a connect-the-dots game, but he doesn’t even stir in his sleep.

There’s a little room for her to squeeze herself in on the couch. Betty lies down right along his side, and Jughead sleepily throws an arm over her waist. It’s just habit now.

But she can’t fall asleep, no matter what she does. Something about the Pembrooke just doesn’t feel like it’s a part of their world. It feels like a figment of her imagination, almost. No place in Riverdale is quite so expensive and exquisite.

Archie seems to assimilate into Veronica’s slice of high class life quite easily. He seems pretty damn comfy on that high class couch. Jughead probably only fell asleep because he was so exhausted, Betty resolves. She rolls onto her other side, now face to face with him. He tucks her under his chin before letting out a quiet snore.

The Pembrooke feels almost like a glitch. Like the Lodges had entered town, enabled some sort of secret cheat code, and gotten this lovely, scary place. That had to be it.

So Betty doesn’t sleep. She waits until morning, watching the first faint glimmer of sunrise through the California shutters, and finally allows herself a moment to close her eyes.

Unknown to her, Jughead hadn’t slept that night either. He just couldn’t shake the eerie feeling of being watched. Maybe it was just that painting of Mr. Lodge on the wall, but still.

He simply faked sleep to enjoy her presence, but he finally feels a bit at peace watching Betty’s chest rise and fall into its rhythmic pattern, a telltale sign she’s drifted off into a quiet peaceful rest.


	6. a clearing in the forest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the first au! sorry this one's so short.   
> enjoy.

Jughead Jones has now been walking through Eversgreen forest for...   
Well he’s not sure how long.

Archie had dropped his phone somewhere in these woods, and sent Jughead off to find it. He’s not sure why he’d obliged. His feet are killing him, begging for a break, and yet he carries on, stumbling every so often on a tree branch or uneven patch of ground.

The trees are dense, when he looks up he can only see peaks of the now black smoky sky through the foliage of red and yellow leaves. It’s too dark to appreciate their colour. Still looking up, he’s positively fascinated when he realizes the trees are all gone.

He’s come to a clearing, but here’s a voice behind him.

“Damnit!” the voice cries.

His head whips around, and he’s face to face with a girl holding Archie’s phone, tapping at the screen angrily.

She’s got glowing blonde hair and she’s wearing a white dress and her eyes are bright green. They’re so mesmerizing that he doesn’t even immediately notice that she’s covered in a splattering of bright red liquid that looks suspiciously like blood.

“That’s my friend’s phone,“ he chokes out. “Who-who are you?”

“I’m Betty.” She says with a scarily beautiful smile. He’s not sure whether to take one step closer or twelve steps back. She’s gorgeous, in a terrifying way. Her presence is amplifying everything off about where he is right now.

He was alone in the dark of a strange empty forest and there he stumbles upon some beautifully terrifying girl drenched in blood. There’s something so visceral about his vulnerability in this exact moment. But before he gets a chance to muse on it, her voice rings out. It’s the most soothing sound he’s ever heard.

“Here you go. You said this was your friend’s.”

She reaches to his wrist, her fingers separating his, and putting the phone between them. He looks down at his hand, a small smearing of blood on it. Her touch is both ice cold and the warmest thing he’s ever felt. He can’t help but commit this moment to memory, but he needs answers. He knows her name but it’s not enough information to satiate him.

_Who are you?_

“But—“

Then he looks up, and she is gone. He’s alone in the clearing again.

**Author's Note:**

> if you enjoyed this for any reason at all, leave me a comment! it means a lot.
> 
>  
> 
> _find me on tumblr: @cooperbettycooper_


End file.
